Being Romilda: The Correspondents' Dinner
by quidditchmum
Summary: Romilda Vane has one thing on her mind: Harry Potter. With love potion in hand, she plans to snag him at the Wizengamot's Annual Correspondents' Dinner. She didn't really think she could pull one over on Ginny Potter, did she?


**A/N:** This is a companion to Not for England, Quidditch or Witches' Rights. Probably best to read that one first.

She stood in front of the mirror as she slipped the blood red evening gown over her shoulders. She slithered into it and magicked the zipper up. It fit her like a second skin and the corset underneath pressed her breasts in and up to within an inch of their lives. They were practically pouring out the plunging neckline. She manually adjusted them, showcasing her cleavage for maximum impact. The effect wasn't subtle, but then no one had ever accused Romilda Vane of being subtle.

The Annual Correspondents' Dinner at the Wizengamot was a huge affair and as a reporter for _The Daily Prophet_, she was an invited guest. It had to be one of the top three social occasions of the year in the Wizarding world and as such, Kingsley Shacklebolt usually encouraged a large turn out amongst Ministry staff. Romilda was hoping that since this was such a prestigious event, her Harry would make an appearance and if she were extremely lucky, he would leave Weasley at home to nurse the brat.

Romilda pursed her lips as she gave herself a critical once over in the mirror. She had read once in _Witch Weekly_ that Harry's favorite color was red.

"You really need to lay off the fags and alcohol, dearie," the mirror said, her tone matter of fact. "You're much too young to be sporting that rode hard and put up wet look."

"Who asked you?" Romilda said with disdain. "Even you and your pithy remarks can't spoil my mood this evening. I've had an excellent week. And who knows," she said as she patted her beaded evening bag which contained a vial of the strongest love potion money could buy. "I might even get lucky and land the man of my dreams tonight."

"Oh, do tell," the mirror returned. Romilda knew that mirrors didn't have hands, but felt sure if they did, this one would be rubbing them together in anticipation of some juicy gossip.

"Well..." She _had_ been dying to share this with someone, even if it was only a mirror. "It took a lot of persuasion…"

"Whilst on your knees, no doubt," the mirror snarked.

"Do you want to hear this or not?" Romilda shifted uncomfortably for a second and wondered how her mirror had gotten so insightful.

"Please, continue."

"As I was saying, it took a lot of persuasion, but I convinced my editor to let me write an editorial on Weasley refusing a spot on the World Cup team." Romilda flipped her hair back over her shoulder and gave the mirror a haughty look.

"Isn't it Potter now, and hasn't it been for a number of years?" returned the mirror.

"She will _always_ be Weasley to me. She practically stole him right from under me, you know."

"That's not the way I remember it," the mirror sang.

"That's the way I remember it. Anyway, now all her little fan girls know what a selfish bint she is. She doesn't care about them or Quidditch or witches rights. It must have really hit a nerve too, because she came storming into the office today, her little spawn in tow and everything."

"And was she oozing excess baby weight and looking all worn out from sleepless nights?'

"Actually no," Romilda said thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, she looked remarkably fit and well rested for a woman with a two month old baby, not that I'd ever tell her that."

"Remind me what it is that you're so happy about?"

"Didn't you hear me? I got under her skin and now all her fans know what a fraud she is."

"If you say so, dearie."

"And if I'm extremely lucky, she'll be too busy tending the little monster to accompany my Harry to the dinner tonight."

"Oh, it's your Harry now, is it?"

"He's always been my Harry." With that, Romilda used her wand to color her lips blood red to match her gown, checked her bag to make sure she that had a Quick Quotes Quill, an absolute necessity for a gossip reporter at such an occasion, and Apparated to the Ministry for the gala.

She gave her best come-hither smile when she was photographed entering the Grand Ballroom and quickly grabbed a flute of champagne off one of the many trays floating about the room.

The decorations for the evening were understated and elegant. Most of the wizards and witches milling about, sipping champagne and eating canapés were dressed in formal robes. She knew she was making a statement with the provocative Muggle evening gown she was sporting and if the appreciative and somewhat lecherous glances she was receiving from many of the wizards present were any indication, her message was being received loud and clear.

Champagne flute in hand, Romilda worked the room like a lioness on the prowl, but the raven-haired prey she sought was not to be found. Her fruitless scan of the ballroom complete, she staked out a spot with a good view of the entrance where she could hold court.

After thirty minutes of air kisses, 'how are you darlings' and watching the door like a hawk, it was official. Potter was a no show. Romilda supposed it wasn't entirely unexpected. It was no secret that he loathed these fussy political affairs and avoided them when he could. She supposed the 'we have a new baby at home' excuse still had legs, but would wear thin soon. She had just hoped that Shacklebolt or Weasley-Granger would have muscled him into attending tonight whilst leaving the ball and chain at home with said 'new baby'.

Regardless, he wasn't there so it seemed she'd have to adjust her plans for the evening. She scanned the room for potential conquests, taking a moment to contemplate her objective for the night. Was she looking for an opportunity to advance her career or social standing, which probably meant older man, possibly married? Or was she just after a memorable shag, in which case young and fit would take priority?

She saw Weasley and Granger-Weasley dance by out of the corner of her eye. If she couldn't land Potter, perhaps the youngest male Weasley would make for interesting entertainment for the night. He wasn't completely unattractive and according to Lavender Brown, he was a great lay. She dismissed that thought immediately. Granger held all the power in that relationship and Romilda was not remotely attracted to bushy hair or bush for that matter.

Draco Malfoy, with his new bride on his arm, caught her attention. She had to admit that she had always found the pretentious blond to be somewhat attractive, but the Malfoy name didn't hold the prestige it once had. After all, Draco had practically been forced to marry the Greengrass girl just to restore a bit of respectability to the family. The Greengrasses were one of the few pureblood families that had come out of the war almost as squeaky clean as the Weasleys. They had not directly fought for the light, but were not tainted with the stain of involvement with You-Know-Who or the Dark Arts. No, as attractive as he may be, Draco was too busy trying to repair his own reputation to offer Romilda much of an up side.

She looked to the left and caught someone openly staring at her breasts. Hmmmm. Cormac McLaggen …Senior. Sure, he was no Savior of the Wizarding World, but he wasn't repulsive and he was a fairly prominent member of the Wizengamot. It couldn't hurt to add another of those to her list of bedmates whilst she bided her time to seal the deal with The Chosen One. And, if the leer he were sending her direction were any indication, this wouldn't be a hard sell.

Romilda pulled herself up to her full height, brought her shoulders back, pushed her breasts out and slithered over to an eager looking Cormac McLaggen, Senior.

"Mr. McLaggen," Romilda purred. "It's so good to see you again." And with that, she went on the offensive.

As she was chatting up McLaggen and moving in for the kill, Romilda noticed what appeared to be a garish pink bird gracefully soaring through the ballroom. When it floated closer, she realized it wasn't a real bird, but an origami swan made from pink parchment. She was mildly curious as it approached her, but tried to bat it away when it darted in and sniffed her. When Romilda and the swan were face to face, the bird disappeared with a bang and a puff of smoke. In its place was a chocolate pie, topped with a generous amount of whipped cream.

Romilda knew what was going to happen a split second before it did, but she didn't have the presence of mind to react before the pie propelled itself smack dab in the center of her face as if guided by an invisible hand. If the bang and puff of smoke hadn't drawn the attention of the entire crowd, the screech that Romilda let out drew the rest. Soon the entire hall was abuzz with laughter and lit up with flashing cameras. Romilda recognized the unmistakable sound of Quick Quote Quills writing furiously. Even in her distress, it did not escape her attention that she was in a room full of reporters.

At that moment there was another bang and puff of smoke and in its wake a large banner floated over Romilda's head and read "The Pie Assassin is brought to you by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes" and in smaller print "All Copyright and Trademarks Apply."

"Weasley!" Romilda screamed in a voice shrill enough to break glass whilst a sloppy mix of whipped cream and chocolate ran from her face down to her immaculately arranged cleavage.

After a brief pause, a voice that sounded remarkably like Ginny Potter came from seemingly nowhere and said, "That's Potter, Vane. Mrs. Potter to you."

Meanwhile, hundreds of kilometers away in Godric's Hallow, Ginny Potter was asleep, enclosed in her husband's arms with a most angelic smile on her face as she dreamt of tomorrow morning's paper.


End file.
